


It Well May Be (That We Will Never Meet Again)

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [16]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Break Up, Continuation of the Sub-Plot, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Family, Family Feels, Heartbreak, Hurt Hawke, Little comfort, M/M, Post-A Bitter Pill, Religion, Specifically the Spirit of Faith Hawke is Contracted With, Spirit Mage Hawke, The Slow Burn Has Become Torturous, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Azzan Hawke deals with the consequences of his night with Fenris.





	It Well May Be (That We Will Never Meet Again)

Azzan had never gotten dressed in the morning so quickly in his life.

He didn't feel _dirty,_ per se. It was more like he just didn't want to be where he was a moment longer.

He barely looked at himself as he bathed and dressed, making his way down from his room with a mind hazy and numb.

Neither he nor Fenris had said anything about the future, about the morning after the night. They'd never mentioned much of anything. They had been too busy doing other things with their tongues and mouths. He had thought, in the heat of the moment, that he would be all right with that.

He had been wrong.

“Ah, Master Hawke!” Bodahn greeted him as he walked down the steps to the lower hall. “We found no sign of you friend, I'm shamed to say. We still have runners looking, if–”

“No. No, Bodahn, I'm sorry. We... he came here, last night.” He covered his mouth, tried to explain. Tried to understand. “I'm sorry. He needed... I'm sorry. I should have told you.”

“It's quite all right, sir,” Bodahn said, the man at least recognizing that it was something Azzan couldn't, wouldn't, speak of. “Lady Hawke should be returning soon, I believe. She said she had some business with a friend and would return by mid-morning.”

He highly doubted that was the case. More likely, she had come home, become aware of the situation between himself and Fenris, and decided to give the two of them some space. To spare him the embarrassment, perhaps, of waking up with his mother practically just outside the door. He just nodded, acting as if he accepted Bodahn's explanation. He looked around as if lost. He felt like he should do something. But what?

What had been the point of everything they'd been through?

He wandered into the library, no thoughts on his mind save the need to be alone. He felt Faith poking at the peripheral of his mind, seeking to comfort. He shuddered. The desk was still too close to the rest of the house, and he found himself ascending the short steps to the higher alcove. Books lined each shelf, a few of Anders' papers sticking out here and there. He took the time to straighten them properly, fitting them back as if they belonged. Then he wandered the floor like a madman.

When Aveline had chosen to look at him as if he was a monster, he had managed to get through it because Fenris had taken Azzan's side. Despite everything, the elf had chosen him. The mage. And his other friends had all stood by him. Varric had brought out his spy network, which he paid to keep tabs on Aveline in case she did try to turn him in. Though he hadn’t told anyone else, Anders had come to him as if in understanding, and had sat with him as Hawke worked through the knowledge that even close friendships could be easily severed by a person’s fear of magic. It had been something his father had drilled into his head since childhood, but a lesson he’d never before had to learn firsthand.

This was different. This wasn’t superstition or fear tearing them apart. It was… it was something beyond his understanding.

Fenris had said he’d remembered. And then forgotten. Azzan couldn’t begin to understand the first hint of what Fenris had been talking about. He remembered his past rather well, and had the opportunity to cherish the memories. He didn’t want to think about what it would be like to forget about his father and Bethany. To forget Carver, even though he was still out there in the world. To forget his mother, and his friends, and his _life_. To forget Lothering and, before that, Maverick and Huntsen. To forget every moment of his existence.

But he couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t really the reason Fenris had turned away.

Of course, it had something to do with it. How could it not? But there had been something more. The look in Fenris’ eyes, the fact that he’d said that this had all been too fast–  
And hadn’t Azzan thought the same? Even as they came together, he had known. They had moved into something they shouldn’t have rushed. They’d tip-toed around each other for three years, had barely worked themselves up to admitting an interest in each other. They’d barely kissed before moving to the bedroom. It _had_ been too fast.

He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He should have stopped it last night. He never should have let them get into this situation.

Still, a thought bubbled up from the back of his mind, pathetically giddy despite the wreckage the morning had become, wasn’t it incredible that his first time, with someone he loved, had been “better than anything he could have dreamed?”

At least the night hadn’t been ruined by Azzan’s naivete.

He huffed a disbelieving laugh, amazed at his own audacity. Of all the things to think, even to himself.

He paced the length of the room, back and forth, hardly paying attention to his steps. This room held memories of Fenris – all the rooms did. He could see the stupid thing on the wall that Fenris hated; he’d been searching for something to replace it with, something that wasn’t part of a dead animal. Now it would remain, because why not? Yet, if he did get rid of it, other reminders would beckon. The wine, still almost untouched, because Hawke had been so pathetically endeared by the gift that he’d kept it as a memento for whenever he had to work. The books, already perused to search for lighter, easier reads for Fenris as he advanced through his lessons. No matter where he turned, this room held memories. But the very idea of returning to his bedroom, the only other room in the building that promised privacy, made him nearly revulse. The memories in there were far worse.

He heard the front door open, heard the not-quite-quiet sound of Bodahn’s voice. He expected to perhaps hear his mother’s voice, had, in that instant, prepared for the worst and listened for Meredith, or perhaps her lackey, Cullen. Had been ready for a horde of templars to burst into his home and prepare to drag him out.

Instead he heard a light, tremulous voice. Soft. Scared. It was so suddenly familiar it brought a sharp pain to his chest. He made his way down the steps of the library and into the main room.

Bodahn turned to him. “Ah.” Bodahn cleared his throat, stumbling through some sort of explanation as to why he’d let Orana in. Azzan held up his hand.

“It’s all right, Bodahn. I asked her to come.” That was right. He had obligations outside of himself. He had to take care of Orana first. His problems could be dealt with later.

He let himself get lost in taking care of Orana. He spent an hour speaking with her, trying to get her to understand that she had a job, not a master. He assured her he would help her whether she stayed with him or not – but of course she chose to stay. Freedom seemed to frighten her. It was such a different reaction than Fenris’, it left him momentarily floundering. But that was fine. He didn’t need to understand. He needed only to help.

He initially made to set her up in the bedroom beside his, the one he’d made up in case Carver was ever able to return. But she resisted, almost terrified, insisting she needed only to work, that she would be good. He needn’t take her as his sexual partner, would he?

He nearly recoiled from her at the suggestion. “No!” he said, nearly shouting. She flinched. He closed his eyes, wishing he wasn’t imagining Fenris. Wishing he didn’t have the knowledge of how the man felt, smelled, tasted. He took a deep breath. “No,” he said again, forcing himself to be calm. “You will never be used like that. If anyone, anywhere, at any time, speaks to or touches you inappropriately, I want you to tell me immediately. All right?”

She nodded, her big eyes wide, small fingers wringing together. He needed to control himself better. “I understand, master.”

“Please don’t call me that,” he said, already knowing it would be useless. He would have to choose his battles with her for a while.

He set her up next to the kitchens, in a room that was, at the moment, merely used as extra storage. He moved the crates and barrels out, depositing them instead in the back of the large kitchen pantry. Orana continuously insisted she could do it herself, then apologized and thanked him each time he assured her it was fine. The bed from upstairs would be too big for the room; he asked Bodahn to see to ordering a new, smaller one, then moved the smaller chest of drawers and bedside table from the upper floor into the room. Orana followed after, wringing her hands until he set her to carrying the drawers inside the chest. He would have relished in the manual labor if it weren’t for her constant thanks.

He helped her put her things away, making careful note of what she would likely need. She filled the drawers while he asked her where she wanted her things. She meekly told him to put them wherever he wanted. It made putting her few possessions take almost another hour, as he insisted she choose how her room was set up.

After that, simple things began grating on him. The empty echo of their footsteps on the stone floor as he showed her the few things he didn’t want her to mess with, including his business letters. Orana’s odd choice of make-up, glaringly obvious each time he looked into her eyes. The soft murmurs of Bodahn and Sandal as he showed Orana around. Then, all at once, the distinct gasp he heard when he turned his head, only to see Orana staring at his neck with wide eyes, her hands covering her mouth. He reached up self-consciously, only to feel the sensitive skin that demarcated a bruise. A hickey.

He turned away, grimacing. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask myself, Bodahn, Sandal, or my mother. She lives here, as well, and is expected to return shortly. I’ll let her know of your residence here.”

Orana’s clothing swished. He could imagine her curtsying to him. He ground his teeth to keep from saying anything. “Of course, master. I’ll work hard, I promise.”

He closed his eyes. “I know you will, Orana. Thank you.”

He should have told her not to work too hard, that there was little to do, that his mother often got bored and started cleaning out of habit. He should have told her that she needn’t work at all, if she didn’t wish to. She was welcome to stay as a guest, at the very least until she got her feet under her. She was free to do anything she wanted. He could teach her to read. He’d gotten some good practice in lately, after all. He could help her find a job elsewhere if she wished, or give her private accommodations in Lowtown, if she wanted her own home.

Instead, he let her leave and went into his room to find something to cover his neck.

* * *

 

Heading back into his room after his night with Fenris had been a mistake. He hadn’t so much as switched out the sheets. The sight that greeted him was one of near destruction. The blankets were still pushed back from the side of the bed, showing the ripped, torn edges of sheets that were better off in the garbage than trying to sew them back together. He was already envisioning a trip to Darktown for them alone before he spotted the curtains, equally ripped, and the hearth where the fire blazed quietly, banked just enough to show a couple of gouges where Fenris had stood. As if he, with his clawed gauntlets, had pressed too hard into the stone and left scratch marks.

One would think he’d let a wild animal loose in the room.

He took care of the bed first, yanking off the blanket and sheet and curtains, setting what needed to be sewed and scrapped to the side and placing the blankets over a chair. He grabbed new linens from the closet, a part of him keeping Orana in mind to ensure she wouldn’t catch him working and start offering to do it herself. He carried the linens in and just… stared.

Even with everything else still in some semblance of order, seeing the bed bare and empty before him brought it all crashing down on him. He set the linens on the side of the bed and sat on the floor. The fire crackled behind him, warming his back almost too well, until he felt hot and sticky. He leaned his head on his hands and curled into himself.

He loved Fenris. The words he hadn’t wanted to think, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, were the very ones he’d thought last night when they came together. Now that he’d aired them, he had nowhere to hide anymore. And wasn’t it just the worst joke that the moment he thought the words was the moment that ruined his chance to say them?

Not that… that he could blame anything for it. The air of urgency between them, in hindsight, certainly had the feeling of a one-night stand to it. He shouldn’t be surprised that it had ended that way.

Fenris had hinted at having once wanted something more. He’d said he’d thought he could be happy. What had happened? Had he been speaking about when he’d come to Azzan’s bed, or before yesterday? Before that woman, Hadriana, had returned to his life? Did Fenris think he could no longer be happy?

That wasn’t what Azzan wanted.

Faith came to him again, pressing against the back of his consciousness. He finally let the spirit wrap its presence around him, let it try to heal the worst of his hurts. He shivered at the contact as it filled him; like water stung small cuts as it entered the wounds, so did Faith’s essence as it touched him. It tried to heal him the best it could. He knew it would want to speak with him, knew he should take a nap or something. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. How could he face Faith when he felt so selfishly betrayed?

He didn’t know how long he spent there on the floor beside his bed, hardly knowing where to go in his own head. Faith stayed with him, its worry strong enough to push through his self-imposed isolation. He only became aware of noises from the main room after they’d already stopped. Someone knocked on his bedroom door. He looked up in a daze. The embers of the fire had banked down to little more than bright orange spots on the blackened wood. Outside his windows, the bright daylight had shifted halfway down the floor. The morning was long gone.

“Azzan? Are you in there?”

His mother. His mother had come back? He made to stand. “Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking. His throat was dry. Faith healed him before he could think to wonder if the dryness would hurt. It hovered on the edge of his consciousness, sending its desire to help across the space between them. “Yes. I’m...” But before he could continue, his mother opened the door.

He could imagine what she saw. Sheets and covers strewn across the floor, him sitting on the stone beside them, in front of the fire. Her face crumpled before his eyes. “Oh, honey.”

And just like that, he couldn’t hide it anymore. He bent where he’d lifted one leg, intending to stand but unable to support his own weight. His mother came and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her when he would have folded in on himself. “Shh,” she said, even as she hugged his head to the crook of her shoulder. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

He held her tight, barely keeping his tears at bay as his own shoulders shook. “I shouldn’t be like this. We didn’t make any promises.”

She carded her fingers through his hair. “Shh. I think you made your promise long ago, my love.”

Maker. How many times had he sworn to help Fenris? To be happy for him if he was happy, even if it was with Isabela, or somewhere outside Kirkwall? But despite those promises, what he’d truly wanted was to give Fenris happiness himself. To be what Fenris was looking for.

It was childish, and foolish, and romantic. And it had no place in reality.

“I love him, Mom,” he said, and felt her arms around him tighten.

“I know, honey. I know. I’m so sorry.”

He cried. He lay on the floor like a child in his mother’s arms and wept. He’d never known pain like this.

His mother cradled him. Rocked him. When finally he grew too tired to continue, she pulled away long enough to raise the fire and make his bed. She wrapped her fingers around his hands and lifted him up from the ground, quietly urging him into bed.

“I think you need to speak with your friend,” she said when he tried to argue.

Faith. He wanted to see it. Needed to feel its presence, as warm and whole as he could, beside him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She bent and kissed his brow, just as she always had when he’d spawned a fever. “It’s a mother’s job to see her child through heartbreak,” she said, “though we all wish we would never have to. Now rest. I’ll take care of things until you wake up.”

“Orana,” he said, barely remembering in time. “She’s an elf. She was a slave in Tevinter. I–”

“Adopted another stray?” she snorted. “I figured as much when she greeted me on my return. It’ll be fine. I’ll watch out for her.”

“Thank you,” he said again, and closed his eyes. The sheets smelled fresh; laundry was one of his mother’s favorite chores, and she took no small delight in hanging the clothing as she had in Lowtown, this time not needing to press flowers into the fabric to get the clean scent of grass and perfume. He closed his eyes to the smell and let go.

* * *

  
In dreams, the Fade could appear as any place, any time, a person could ever imagine. In reality, he supposed it likely looked a bit more like they’d seen when they’d gone after Feynriel – impossible, ridiculous, and always tinged slightly green. Whatever the Fade looked like, when he dreamed of meeting with Faith, he always dreamed of a quiet room, red-carpeted floors and a large, sometimes towering statue of Andraste. Most times, she had her hands folded in supplication before her. Sometimes, she held a torch as if in offering. And rarely, in times like now, she hand her hands folded over her face as she wept.

Faith took on several forms when he first met it, but now, it mostly took on the form of a woman in a long robe, her eyes glowing green as she gazed at him. It was a reminder both of what she represented and what she was, a piece of honesty he appreciated when many demons tried to hide their spiritual nature.

She moved to his side, her robes swishing as if she walked, her actual movement flowing more like the floating of some ghost. “Healbird.” It had been her first name for him, when they had first begun talking. He had once explained nicknames to her, and she had found the idea interesting. This was likely her idea of a nickname for him.

“Faith,” he said, greeting the spirit with a smile. She reached out, her hands little more than shifting movements beneath the sweeping lines of her false robe. He had no idea what she looked like when she wasn’t taking on some sort of persona. To him, this was Faith.

He reached out to facilitate the touch. Beneath the robe came two small, delicate hands, the fingers the tiniest bit too long to be human. Faith was a strong enough spirit that she could look perfectly human if she so desired. But she had no need for the farce, and he had no desire to see it. He liked to think that her natural form, whatever it might have been, also had long fingers, and that was why she chose that particular malformation.

As soon as she touched him, the feel of her healing warmth wrapped around him again. He took a deep breath, letting her power wash through him. He knew she searched for some physical way to heal him. But there was no way, and she eventually pulled her magic back. She tugged his hand, silently herding him to one of the benches on the side of the room. True to the Fade, the room did not continue endlessly, or even close itself off to the world completely. Instead, if they moved to the edges of it, they could sit in a place that looked almost like a garden. The grass beneath their feet crunched, though the sound echoed in ways it wouldn’t if they were truly outdoors.

He sat beside her and leaned back. There were no scents here, no sounds of birds or crickets. It wasn’t natural. But it was, somehow, soothing. “I cannot heal you physically,” Faith said, sitting next to him, her body turned entirely toward him, her hands folded into the sleeves of her robe. She rested them in her lap. “Let me heal your heart.”

He shook his head. “Hearts aren’t healed so easily.”

“Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing, an ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr. Within My creation, none are alone.”

Azzan sucked in a deep breath. He laughed softly, quietly disbelieving. “Andraste 1:7,” he said, recognizing the quote. “The Maker Appears to Andraste.”

Faith did not respond. She never did in these instances. The Chant was not simply a book to memorize, but a guide to follow. It was true that, despite the grief that blanketed him, he, and the world, would continue. But the quote was specifically from when Andraste had fallen to grief, having watched her people, her brothers and sisters in arms, fall in battle. She’d thought she’d been left all alone. But what should have been a grief so all-consuming as to paralyze her, brought instead the chance to change the world. Her battle family may have died, but she had been granted new purpose. Something that allowed her to change the world forever. And, though her life had not ended happily, she had been granted joy until Maferath’s betrayal. Her life had not ended then. Neither, Faith was saying, would his.

He took a shuddering breath and leaned against Faith. The spirit took his weight without comment. “What should I do?” he asked.

Faith’s voice, when she spoke, carried echoes within it. Voices within voices, all soft and deep like water. “Though stung with a hundred arrows, though suffering from ailments both great and small, his Heart was strong, and he moved on.”

He closed his eyes. Faith might not fully understand what he was feeling, or why, but the spirit at least understood what he needed to hear. His life wasn’t over just because the man he loved had turned away from him. He had friends. He had family. He had a life. He even had a purpose, of a sort; mages in and around Kirkwall needed help, and he had the means to do so. He also had his work with the viscount and the Arishok. It was enough for now. He would just have to focus on those things. Move forward. Continue on.

He should also find Fenris. His heart twisted at the very idea. He didn’t want to face him, to face what they would be to each other from now on. He didn’t even want to stand before Fenris and speak, knowing that one night would stand between them forever. But more than that… more than that, he needed to make sure Fenris knew Azzan would still help him, if ever he needed it.

After all, simply because things, for whatever reason, hadn’t worked out between them, didn’t mean that Danarius wasn’t still a threat.

And he didn’t want Fenris thinking he didn’t have the right to be happy. Even if it couldn’t be with him, even if whatever they’d nearly had only went as far as one night – he had to stop there, had to stop thinking about it before the sorrow crushed his chest – even then, he wanted Fenris to be happy.

Fenris had spoken of his memories, of having received them again, for just an instant. He’d remembered everything, only to lose it again. For a wild moment, Azzan wondered if helping him reclaim those memories could help bring the elf some measure of relief. But of course that was insane. Even if he could find some way, how could that solve any of Fenris’ other problems?

He’d said he’d simply wanted to be happy. Just for a little while. Being with Azzan had made him happy.

He’d asked Azzan to forgive him.

Faith let him sit silently beside it, let him ponder the morning’s events in his own time. The spirit did not expect him to have any answers or kind words. It merely sat, and listened, able to hear and feel his thoughts as he did. When he doubted his time with Fenris had meant anything to the man, Faith sent a warm rush of magic through him, calming his heart before it could beat into a panic and call the minds of nearby demons. When he hurt, sorrow crashing upon him in a sudden wave yet again, it soothed him with a low voice, the sound of hymns whispered on the wind.

He looked at the statue sitting so prominently in the middle of Faith’s domain and thought of Andraste. Of the Maker. Of what they had done, and been willing to do, for others. Andraste, as she’d been put to the pyre, had begged the Maker to forgive her killers. She still loved humanity, still defended them to the Maker, even after her husband betrayed her.

“I love him,” he said again, in this place where his heart was perhaps more protected than anywhere else.

“You love him,” Faith echoed. Simple words, simple gesture. He felt a welling of something like healing, finally, in his breast. The words were not sung into a void. He loved Fenris. And whether Fenris loved him back or not, whether or not it brought only sorrow – whether or not it could ever face the light of day – it was, and it was good.

Fenris needed time. He needed space. Azzan had always known that. It was why he’d never wanted to rush the man, had never wanted to push him into something he wasn’t ready for. Whether that time ever came didn’t matter. He would continue loving Fenris. He would continue giving him space, and time, and would always be willing to stand by him.

He’d thought things between them had changed. But had they? In the end, had anything about how he felt altered from twenty-four hours ago? When he’d helped Fenris deal with Hadriana and the slavers, they had been dancing around one another, had hinted at wanting more, but hadn’t been more than close friends who sometimes flirted. Now, after last night, they were close friends who had slept with one another once.

It didn’t have to change anything. Not if he didn’t let it.

And last night had been wonderful. It had been just as Fenris had said – better than anything he could have imagined. The morning after didn’t have to ruin that.

“Thank you,” he said. He wasn’t certain he was feeling better yet, but he did know, for the first time in hours, that he was going to be okay.

“In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains.”

The Canticle of Trials. Azzan smiled. Slowly, like a child, he let himself be led through the old passage. Slowly, he woke, Faith staying with him until the last possible second.

* * *

  
When he opened his eyes, his heart was calmer than it had been since Fenris had walked out of this same room.

His pillow was slightly damp, evidence of the last of his tears as he’d drifted to sleep. He flipped it over and looked around. The fire still crackled in the hearth, though it was the middle of the day. It made his room almost sweltering, but he took solace in the flames, nonetheless. He could still see Fenris standing over them, searching their depths for secrets Azzan couldn’t fathom. But he could also see the way the firelight set that white hair aflame in the darkness of the night. He could remember how it danced over their skin, made their sweat shine like dew, as they held each other.

It hurt. The memory, stained by what he knew now, would always hurt. But at least the fire was warm, and homey, and he could finally be in his room and not feel the walls pressing in on him.

He trailed his fingers down the light scratches in the mantle, then made his way outside.

His mother stood speaking quietly with Orana, the young elf staring at her with wide eyes. Bodahn watched the conversation with his brows drawn low. Sandal… scratched his butt.

Azzan smiled.

Whatever his mother had been saying, she stopped the conversation cold when she heard his footsteps pad softly across the upper floor. She craned her neck up. “Are you all right? Should you be up already? You only slept for a few hours.”

“A few hours was all I needed. Thanks.” He didn’t want to gush over what his mother had done for him in front of the others, But as always, he didn’t need to. She smiled and nodded, understanding without words.

“Go ahead and start preparing supper,” his mother said, and Orana fairly raced out of the room. The young woman barely glanced at him before running off.

He watched for a moment as he made his way down the steps before turning to his mom. “What happened?”

Leandra just waved her hand as if shooing away a pesky fly. “That girl – I hope you know what you’re doing. She seems like a skittish halla.”

The idea made him think of Merrill, of all people. Merrill had warmed up well to Isabela. He wondered if the ex-captain could perhaps bring Orana out of her shell, as well. “She’ll be all right. She just needs time. Her life is from the Black City, mom.”

She sighed. “If she was a slave in Tevinter, then I’m sure that’s true. Still...” His mother bit her lip, then shook her head. She forced a grin. “At least you’re looking better. The rest helped, I take it.”

“The rest,” he agreed. “And you.” He hugged her. She pulled him tight to her, leaned up onto her tip-toes and squeezed. “Thank you,” he said again.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said. Had that been her story for Bodahn and the others? He leaned back, enough to be able to look at her as she put her feet firmly back down on the ground. Her hair was perfectly coifed despite the ardors of the day, her features composed as if they stood in the middle of a formal gala. He’d always thought his mother was a lady. It was strange, fitting, to see her back in her natural role. “Go on and rest,” she said. “Orana’s going to be making dinner tonight.”

“Is she all right?” he asked. “How is she fitting in?”

“She’s a bit clumsy, and very nervous. Trying to get her to do something is an exercise in patience. And if you try to teach her, she just starts apologizing profusely.” His mother shook her head and sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her. She’s too used to hiding in the shadows of an estate, I think. She’ll have to be worked up to more public work.”

He wanted to go check on her, but feared his presence in the kitchens would be taken as an invasion, or worse, a threat. So he nodded and backed away. Time. They all just needed some time. “Then I’ll leave her in your capable care once more, mother.” He likely looked a mess; he could feel the tangled knots of his hair against the nape of his neck. He scratched at them as he looked around. “I’m going to grab up the mail and work on it in my room, if that’s all right?”

“It sounds just fine,” she said. “Bodahn just got a few more this morning. The pile’s starting to tilt.”

He tried out a chuckle. It didn’t scrape up his throat, though it did still burn slightly on the way out. “Right.” He grabbed the pile from the writing desk. The pile was thick enough that he had to curl his arm into his chest to keep from dropping any. He looked over to Sandal, who stared back impassively, then toward the side room, which would lead back to the dining room and the kitchens. Then he went upstairs.

Back in his room, the heat was so oppressive he finally had to bank the flames entirely. Without them, he was left lighting a candle was a soft wave of magic, Faith recoiling slightly from the destructive force before returning to him. He yawned and placed the pile by the candle. The top letter had no address on it, either to or from. Likely one of his contacts from his time with the mercenary guild. He ignored it for the moment, choosing instead to finally get properly dressed for the day – not in his usual formal housewear, but instead in his old free mage’s outfit. He brushed out his hair, pulled it back into its tail almost without thought, and then finally sat at the table and opened that top letter.

The parchment was little better than the rough envelopes they usually arrived in, if they came in such a thing at all. He hardly thought anything of it until he opened the letter within and read it. He frowned and read it again, almost unsure he’d read right. Finally he dropped it in the middle of his desk, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the thing, not knowing what to do. What did it even mean?

_You shouldn’t let your friends stay the night in your home. People could get the wrong idea._


End file.
